


A Guardian of Her Own

by Splat_Dragon



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, F/F, F/M, M/M, Magic-Users
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 00:01:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6830758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splat_Dragon/pseuds/Splat_Dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Pooka massacre, there were but two left; a Spring, and a Winter. Tsar Lunar claimed one, needing a new Guardian to fight Kozmotis Pitchiner, knowing the Spring Pooka would want to seek revenge. Akatosh claimed the other, seeing the potential in her to become a Guardian of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Kill an Empire

 

 _ **Title:**_ A Guardian of Her Own  
_**Rating:**_ M  
_**Fandom:**_ Rise of the Guardians/Skyrim  
_**Chapter(s):**_ 1/?  
_**Characters:**_ OCMC, Various NPCs  
_**Pairings:**_ Ria/Vilkas, Farkas/Lydia  
_**Synopsis:**_ After the Pooka massacre, there were but two left; a Spring, and a Winter. Tsar Lunar claimed one, needing a new Guardian to fight Kozmotis Pitchiner, knowing the Spring Pooka would want to seek revenge. Akatosh claimed the other, seeing the potential in her to become a Guardian of her own.  
_**Tags:**_ Blood and torture, blood, injuries

* * *

 

     Everything was burning.  
  
     The air was thick with smoke, and reeked of ash and death. If you had as good a nose as the native creatures, you could smell the fear that permeated the area.  
  
     Beasts of black sand charged through the air, barreling over anyone in their way, crushing their skulls when they hit the ground. Brain matter slicked the ground, slipping the once-sure feet of the great Pookan Warriors.  
  
     All their senses were assaulted. They couldn't think, could only fight. They could smell little besides the smoke, ash, death and fear. They couldn't smell the creatures attacking them. They could only hear the shrieks of the wounded and the dying. The Nightmares and Shadow Men that attacked did so without sound. Their eyes watered from the smoke of the burning huts and buildings, eyesight blurry and unfocused. The dark sand melded well with the smoke and seemed to strike from nowhere. They didn't dare open their mouths for fear of being choked to death by an errant clump of sand – it had happened to one, it could happen to many. The vibrations to their great feet that they relied on were dulled by the ooze, and the things flew through the air, making no vibrations.  
  
     It was chaos.  
  
     A shadow-shrouded man floated high above the massacre, his gray-face covered in a Cheshire grin. Finally! Fi~nally! The great Winter Pooka were falling beneath his shadow fist! They had resisted his siege the longest, delaying his attack on the Spring Pooka, but now they were falling!  
  
     The tribe, only hours before, before he had come, had numbered in the hundreds, almost thousands. He had taken out almost half of them, most of them males or females on border duty, or working the menial jobs of the Tribe, in his sudden surprise attack. They had grown used to life surrounded by his Shadow Men and Nightmares, stuck in a siege with them. So, they had paid little attention when the shadows had begun to shift – a foolish, fatal mistake. His army had charged, killing them before they could sound the alarm.  
  
     He had continued the attack, and when the other Pooka had seen him, all who were of fighting age that wasn't with kit had charged out to fight. The heavy-bellied mothers had hurried the kits through the tunnels to the nursery, where they sat huddled around them, ready to fight to the death for their kits.  
  
     Of course, it had been for naught. He had known the location of the nursery, and had dispatched a platoon of Nightmares and Nightmare Men to take care of them. They had been some of the first to die.  
  
     During the whole fight, he hadn't had to lift a finger. The great Pooka had been slaughtered by his henchmen, causing them little trouble. It was almost too easy! The Winter Pooka, who had withstood his siege the longest, had withstood his attack the least amount of time.  
  
     As another warrior -a female, this time- fell, he began to count off the remaining Pooka.  
  
_Whump!_  
  
     “Ten!”  
  
    _Crack!_  
  
     “Nine!”  
  
    _Shlick!_  
  
     “Eeeight!”  
  
      _Thud!_  
  
     “Seven!”  
  
_Crunch!_  
  
     “Siiix!”  
  
      _Splash!_  
  
     “Fiiiiive!”  
  
_Splat!_  
  
     “FOUR!”  
  
      _Snap!_  
  
     “THREEEE!”  
  
    _Pop...pop...pop!_  
  
     “TWOOO!”  
  
  _“Ahhhhhhh-!”_  
  
     “ONE!”  
  
      _“No, p-please, no-!”_  
  
     None.


	2. Aftershock

_** ** _

_**Title:**_ A Guardian of Her Own  
 _ **Rating:**_ M  
 _ **Fandom:**_ Rise of the Guardians/Skyrim  
 _ **Chapter(s):**_ 2/?  
 _ **Characters:**_ OCMC, Various NPCs  
 _ **Pairings:**_ Ria/Vilkas, Farkas/Lydia  
 _ **Synopsis:**_ After the Pooka massacre, there were but two left; a Spring, and a Winter. Tsar Lunar claimed one, needing a new Guardian to fight Kozmotis Pitchiner, knowing the Spring Pooka would want to seek revenge. Akatosh claimed the other, seeing the potential in her to become a Guardian of her own.  
 _ **Tags:**_ Blood and torture, blood, injuries

* * *

 

     “Oh, this is all such a mess. Father, why did you do this? Did you lose your mind?”

 

     Emily Jane, more commonly known as Mother Nature, daughter of Kozmotis Pitchiner, let out a loud sigh, looking at the sky. It was streaked red, as though the blood that stained the ground had splashed into the sky as well.

 

     “Talking to yourself again, Emily?”

 

     She barely restrained a jump reminiscent of the creatures that had, until recently, inhabited this area. Whipping around, she saw a short, plump man, his normally cheerful face grim. “This isn't your fault, you know,” he sighed, resting a wrinkled hand on her shoulder.

 

     “I feel like I could have prevented this somehow,” bemoaned the Nightmare King's daughter.

 

     Tsar gave her a pitying glance. “Emily Jane. No one, and I do mean **no one** , could have expected nor prevented this catastrophe.”

 

     Her mouth opened, as though to respond, but then her lips pressed closed in a tight seal, her eyes dropping to the ground. Lunar stayed silent, allowing her a moment of self-pity. She took a moment to compose herself, and straightened, walking towards the scene of the disaster.

 

_**Fwoooosh!** _

 

     The pair whirled around, watching as a burst of flame appeared in the shape of a furled Dragon. The dragon unfurled, stretching out its wings. The flames extinguished themselves, revealing bright crimson scales. The reptile stared at them for a moment, speaking, folding its wings to its sides. “Greetings Emily Jane, Tsar Lunar. It is a pleasure to see you both once again, although I do wish it could have been under better circumstances.” Its voice was a low rumble, seeming to shake the very ground upon which they stood.

 

     “Akatosh! To what do we owe the... I'm not sure we can say pleasure at such a time, of this visit?” MiM questioned, brows furrowed. They didn't even know that Akatosh knew about Kozmotis outside of him being Emily's father, much less about the recent Pooka Massacre.

 

     The Dragon sighed. “I could sense their distress from my realm, Tsar. We all could. The others of my Pantheon asked for me to look for the cause.”

 

     The moon-dweller shook his head. “Kozmotis Pitchiner went insane.”

 

     “Kozmotis? Lady Jane's father?”

 

     A slight nod. “He has slaughtered several peoples, and just finished his destruction of the Pooka.”

 

     The crimson beast's eyes dulled, and he looked around, taking in the mauled and mangled rabbits. Before he could, speak, however, Emily called MiM's name.

 

     “Emily?” He walked over and stood next to the crouching girl.

 

     She ran her hand through the bloodied fur of an adolescent Pooka, gray in colour, with the Spring clan's flowering markings flowing through his fur. “This one still lives.”

 

     The elderly man crouched down as well, pressing his hand against its chest to feel a racing pulse, and further examination revealed the grass in front of his muzzle waving slightly. “He does.”

 

     “The last Pooka,” her eyes hooded, and she threaded her fingers through the ruffled fur on his chest.

 

     “Indeed.” MiM pressed his hand to the Pooka's forehead, and his eyes widened. All the possible futures for it darted through his mind. “A Guardian, then.”

 

     “What?” she looked up at him, “you are certain?”

 

     “He has not a future in which he does not become a Guardian.”

 

     Mother Nature nodded, and allowed her magic to flow through his veins, reinvigorating his slowing heart and enhancing his natural magic. “To Earth?” The man nodded, and she scooped up the small, adolescent hare. “Farewell, Akatosh.” With a nod of acknowledgment, both Tsar Lunar and Emily Jane vanished from sight, taking the Spring Pooka with them.

 

     Akatosh watched them vanish with a frown, before making his way to a thicket of thorny branches. A small lick of fire destroyed them, revealing the source of the thin, thready heartbeat he had been hearing since his arrival – a puny Winter kit. Smaller than most hares he had hunted in Cyrodiil, he could sense great magic coming off of her. Another lick of flame raced over her, although it did not burn her. Instead, it cauterized her wounds, sealing them and prompting her black-as-pitch fur to grow over the bald spots. The effect on her was immediate – he had never heard a heartbeat so strong, so vital. He looked her over, prodding her magic and feeling it push back twice as hard. “And you, kit, will be a Guardian of your own.”

 

     The dragon dipped his head, taking hold of the scruff of her neck, and lifted her up. His eyes flashed across the grim scene, and a blast of flame as hot as the sun rocketed off his scales, beginning to burn everything in a mockery of a funeral pyre. Another, smaller flare of flames, and the God and the Guardian were gone.


End file.
